


hatsumōde

by bakakateme



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Getting Together, Light-Hearted, Mild Language, Other, Post-Timeskip, Pre-Timeskip, reader’s bsf is an oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakakateme/pseuds/bakakateme
Summary: Seven new years’ shrine visits; seven run-ins with the biggest idiot you know.“Happy new year, Miya Atsumu.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	1. prologue (age 12)

The first time you visited the shrine alone was the New Years before you entered middle school. You figured that if you were growing up, you’d need to learn how to do more things on your own. Hence, 12 year old you, bundled in far too many layers of clothing and desperately trying to dodge the groups of high schoolers with hands curled around cups of hot chocolate and gossiping with their friends.

You nearly slipped on the snow-covered steps once, or maybe thrice, on your way up to the shrine, but you finally made it. Hands clutched around the paper fortune you’d bought with your pocket money, you fumbled to open it, only to have your poor adolescent ears accosted by a sharp shriek. 

Standing several feet away from you were two boys, who, besides having no concern for your still-developing auditory nerves, looked exactly the same. You shuffled closer, as subtly as you could for someone wrapped in three coats and looking like a giant furry globe, before realizing they were arguing over their fortunes.

“Why’d you get the good one ’stead of me, shitty ’Samu?”

“Maybe the gods’re punishin’ ya for being a pain in the ass,” answered the boy closer to you, and you suppressed a snort as his brother let out a wounded howl.

“Why aren’t they punishing _you_? Ya stole my onigiri las’ night!”

“The gods know I deserved it more than you,” the one you assumed was ‘Samu’ responded smugly. The unnamed brother regarded Samu thoughtfully for a second before he snatched his brother’s fortune and immediately raced for the shrine’s exit.

“Oi! Get back here, ya useless scrub!” Samu yelled, promptly taking off in hot pursuit. You were left still standing at the top of the steps, your own long-forgotten fortune fluttering between your fingers before escaping into the winter air. You figured you’d never see them again.

You were wrong.


	2. chapter one (age 15)

“[y/n]!”

You jerk awake, head flying up as you frantically attempt to discover the source of your sudden and unwelcome return to consciousness. You slump back down once you realize it’s just Itsuki.

“Oh. Hey, Suki.”

“You don’t have to say it like _that_!” He gives you an affronted look before sliding into the seat across from you. “Why are you loitering around in this, uh-”

“Shack? Hovel? Exterminator’s nightmare slash goldmine?” you offer. Itsuki sighs, never one to outright insult anyone or anything, but he doesn’t exactly correct you. You count that as a victory. “I’m not loitering. I’m taking a nap. Or at least, I _was_ , before someone rudely barged in and interrupted me.”

“You nap too much,” he responds, before giving the run-down convenience store another glance and shuddering. “Can we get out of here?”

Okay, so maybe your favorite haunt is the worst-looking building in town and most likely a threat to public safety and hygiene. Who cares?

(Everyone, especially the suspicious-looking bug you found trying to crawl into your cup ramen the other day, but not the point. Evil-looking places are the best places to make evil plots.)

“As long as I get to nap in your bed,” you reply, standing up and swinging your bag over your shoulder. You remind yourself to check it for unwelcome visitors before you get home.

“Who said we were going to my house?”

“Have you ever wanted to go anywhere else?” He’s quiet again, and the two of you push through the front doors and back into the street, squinting against the sunlight. 

You’re not exactly sure why Itsuki is coming to you, to be honest- though he’s your oldest friend, he also happens to be the most popular guy in the entire school and is therefore accosted with dozens of invitations to hang out every single break. Yet he sticks to your side, like a very loyal and not necessarily unwelcome barnacle.

Maybe that’s the wrong thing to compare him to.

You scrutinize his back as he strides down the sidewalk as if his broad shoulders or bright green backpack will suddenly tell you all his secrets and make you magically able to comprehend why Nijimura Itsuki, golden boy of Shukugawa Junior High, would willingly spend time with you, perpetually asleep delinquent/villain-wannabe determined to make your parents’ lives as hard as possible.

It’s the rebellious phase of life, or whatever.

“Hurry up, [y/n]!” Suki calls, turning around to beckon you forward, and you shrug off your doubts and pick up the pace. There’s no use dwelling on a question you’ll probably never have answered. Also, his room has a sick-ass bed.

“I’m coming,” you yell back.

Once you catch up to him, he slips through his front door and disappears down a hallway, most likely to the bathroom to wash off whatever potential virus the air of the convenience store is carrying, leaving you to slip off your shoes and head straight to his bedroom, dumping your bag next to your boots so you don’t dirty his rugs.

His room looks the same as always- volleyball posters taped up on the walls, bookshelf filled with neatly organized textbooks and study packets, desk free of dust and cleared of any clutter. You spot an _omamori_ sitting atop a stack of papers and edge closer, peering down at it. The little brocade pouch is a dark, worn purple, and you vaguely recognize it as the one Suki had bought last year. He’d shown it off to you proudly, but you hadn’t been paying much attention.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Suki says, coming in behind you with a platter of fruit in his hand. You yelp in surprise and whirl around.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Suki looks far too satisfied with himself, so you stomp on his foot.

“Ow!” He looks at you reproachfully. “You know, we’re gonna be high schoolers real soon. You should start acting more- why are your elbows so _sharp_?” He gasps out the last part after his ribs become rather closely acquainted with said appendage.

“I’m growing,” you reply primly before sitting on the floor and leaning your back against the bottom half of his bunk bed. “Are you gonna burn that _omamori_?”

“What? Oh, yeah, probably. Or just return it,” Suki says, still checking himself for bruises, though half of you is sure he’s just trying to show off his newly acquired abdominal muscles. “You didn’t get one last year, did you?”

You shake your head in response, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. 

“Nah, didn’t wanna. I bought a fortune though.” He doesn’t respond, so you crack open one eye to see him popping an orange slice into his mouth. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you when you ask him, “Do you wanna visit the shrine with me this year?”

Several seconds pass before he can answer you, due to the fact that he starts choking on his tangerine.

“But you said you didn’t wanna go with me last year,” he finally says, looking at you as if you’ve suddenly grown wings and horns instead of just asking him to do a normal thing. That normal friend groups do. Although wings and horns would be pretty cool too.

“That was last year,” you point out. “This is this year.”

Suki still looks vaguely concerned for your mental wellbeing, which makes you feel more offended than it probably should, but it only lasts for a couple seconds. After all, it’s not like he’s a stranger to people asking him to hang out with them.

“Okay, great, then,” he says, handing you the fruit platter. You select an apple slice and bite into it, the crisp juice filling your mouth. “I’ll, uh, buy you an _omamori_ if you want?”

“Why are you acting so weird?” you ask him after you finish chewing and swallowing. He jerks guiltily. 

“I don’t know! I guess I’ve always felt a little like I was bothering you?”

“Suki, we’ve been friends since our first year of elementary school. How old are we now?”

“Fifteen…”

“That’s, fuck, wait- Like twelve years, right?” you ask, momentarily diverted from your point by your terrible mental math skills.

“Nine years, [y/n],” Suki corrects you. You wave your hands through the air theatrically.

“Same thing. We’ve been friends for nine years. Why would I think you’re a bother?” He pauses, most likely to try and puzzle this out while you steal another apple slice. You need fuel if you’re going to carry out your evil plans, after all.

“Can I still buy you an _omamori_?”

“I don’t accept handouts from do-gooders.”

“What?”

* * *

Suki is that kind of person that’s irritatingly happy and awake in the mornings, you notice as he skips ahead of you, looking oddly excited for someone who’s just performing the customary shrine visit. The two of you had gotten up earlier than most people so you’d be less crowded.

It was Suki’s idea, of course. You liked peace and quiet, sure, but you liked sleeping in more. That’s what breaks were supposed to be for: solitude, sleeping till noon, and throwing all your schoolbooks in a fire and dancing around it while chanting.

Suki gives you a sideways look, which makes you realize you probably said that aloud, but before you can defend your genius viewpoint, he points to a vending machine.

“Want something?” He is rewarded with a shove to the shoulder.

“Stop buying me things!”

Soon enough, the two of you reach the shrine, which is mostly empty except for a few gaggles of adults who came early to avoid the loud groups of high schoolers who are either making out with their respective partners or just loitering because they’ve got nowhere else to go.

You shudder to think that next year, you’ll most likely be one of them, but quickly brighten when you realize that delinquents probably come in pairs, or even _alone_. A perfect opportunity to glare threateningly at people like- well, Suki.

“You can be the pretty boy who gets protection from the delinquent squad,” you inform him, but he ignores you. He’s mostly used to your odd outbursts after nine years.

“Ya hear that, ’Tsumu? Yer a pretty boy,” you hear someone drawl to your right.

“Damn straight I am,” another voice replies. Turning around as Suki pays for his fortune, your gaze locks onto a pair of twins lounging against the steps up to the shrine. “Prettier than you, at any rate.”

“We look the same, dumbass.”

You stiffen a little at the odd familiarity of their heavy Kansai dialect, but one of them swivels his head and catches you looking before you can place where you’ve heard that before.

“So where’s this delinquent squad protection yer promisin’?” His gaze is flinty with amusement, and you get the distinct sense that he’s mocking you. It’s the guy who first caught your attention- the one who called his twin a pretty boy.

“You’re not pretty enough for it,” you respond, turning back to Suki and smacking his hand. “Don’t buy me that!”

“I already paid for it,” he tells you, rolling his eyes. “Just take it, [y/n].” Grumbling, you shove the fortune into your pocket. 

“So yer sayin’ _he’s_ prettier ’n us?” The other twin (Tsumu?) pokes his head out from behind his brother. “Ya might wanna get yer eyes checked, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you begin, but Suki interrupts you.

“Miya?”

Both boys turn their heads towards him, in perfect sync, and you stifle a snicker at the sight.

“Uh, do we know ya?” one of them asks. The one that’s not Tsumu.

“Yeah, I played you in a volleyball game a couple of weeks ago?” Suki tilts his head at them. “Shukugawa Junior High?”

“Yeah, you guys sucked,” Tsumu interjects. His twin makes an odd choking sound.

“Not what you said when you failed to pick up my serve,” Suki replies, a distinct note of smugness in his voice. Tsumu’s eyes light up.

“So _yer_ the pinch server! Samu, that’s the guy I was telling ya about!”

Your eyes pop open at the nickname, your mind flying back three years, all the way to a pair of twins with the same Kansai accent arguing over their fortunes at the top of the shrine.

You watch them bicker as Samu insists he doesn’t remember, while Tsumu insists he told him. Suki looks vaguely dazed as he tries to follow the argument. You tap his shoulder.

“Suki, who are they?”

“Miya Osamu and Miya Atsumu. They’re, like, the star volleyball players of the prefecture,” he explains to you, and you give them another look. Samu- or, Osamu, you suppose- has his brother in a headlock, and Atsumu’s face is turning a slightly concerning puce color.

“Um, okay,” you say. “Anyways, weren’t you gonna return your _omamori_?”

“Oh right!” Suki says, running up the shrine’s stairs to find someone to give the little bag of charms back to. Left alone, you unfold the fortune he bought for you. _Great blessing_. You scoff, crumpling it up and putting it back into your pocket. You’d been hoping for a great curse so Suki would stop trying to buy them for you. Besides, everyone knows blessings are for heroes, not delinquents.

You eye the Miya twins one last time before Suki comes back, his face flushed by the cold winter air.

“Ready to go?”

“See ya next year, [y/n]!” one of the twins call as you leave the shrine. 

“See ya on the court, pinch server!” his brother yells, and you look back only to catch the two of them scuffling again.

“How the hell’d they turn that into an argument too?” Suki asks incredulously.

_They're idiots_ , you think, stepping out of the shrine grounds, but you're smiling as you do.


	3. chapter two (age 16)

Settling into your high school life was far easier than you had expected; since your middle and high schools were both private and part of the same school, all your classmates were mostly the same. The classes were harder, obviously, but having Itsuki’s notes available to you at any time enabled you to spend less time studying and more time napping, trying to plot murder, and such.

Unfortunately, this came with a steep price you did not anticipate: Itsuki expected you to come with him to his volleyball games. Originally, he had wanted you at his practices too, but the re-introduction of your elbow to his stomach quickly changed his mind. 

In middle school, though he was fascinated with the sport, Itsuki hadn’t had much interest in actually playing until your third year. He’d actually begun putting effort in and ended up becoming a valuable pinch server and outside hitter. Now the high school coach wanted him as a starter, and he quickly developed an actual love for volleyball. You’d been mostly indifferent to this change in him at first, but ever since you’d assured Itsuki you didn’t find him bothersome, he had taken it as a green light (it was not; it was more like a ‘yield for pedestrians’ sign, but on a highway) to try and spend as much time as possible with you.

Yes, you were aware that no pedestrian in their right mind would attempt to cross a highway. However, you had also assumed that Itsuki would realize you did not want to watch a team of loud, sweaty boys bump a ball around for hours. In this, you were wrong.

“Please, [y/n]?” He looks up at you with the eyes of a kicked puppy. Little does he know, delinquents kick puppies for fun.

“No.”

(Okay, maybe you feel a little bit guilty.)

“Fine.”

“Wait, what?” Itsuki’s brows furrow in confusion. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Ugh, I’ll go to your dumb games, Suki.” You flop down onto the floor, back in his bedroom again, and glare balefully at the poster of the Japanese national volleyball team on the opposite wall as if it is the source of all your problems. Itsuki beams at you, and for a moment, you feel oddly positive. You are immediately determined to squash that feeling. “But you have to do my English homework for me. Why do we have to learn such a stupid language?”

Itsuki just sighs as you go on another one of your rants about the pointlessness of learning foreign languages.

“Any country that speaks such a slippery language is untrustworthy,” you declare as Suki looks down at you with weariness. You stick your tongue out at him and continue. “Why isn’t sugar spelled with ‘sh’ instead of ‘su’? It’s pronounced the same as ‘shoe’, but you’re not going to spell ‘shoe’ with ‘su’, because that would be ‘sue’. How does that even make sense? Why isn’t ‘sue’ pronounced the same way as the beginning of ‘sugar’?”

Itsuki stares at you blankly, probably because your heavy Japanese accent has completely ruined his comprehension of the English words and letters that you tossed out.

“Well, English is derived from multiple languages-” he begins, probably attempting to be helpful, but you shush him. You need something to complain about. 

“You can even use the letter ‘c’! Why does ‘ocean’ make the same sound as ‘shoe’, but _sensei_ marked me down when I spelled it with ‘sh’ on last week’s test?”

“Didn’t we learn about that in, like, our second year of middle school?” Itsuki looks lost, being the type of person to assume everyone is at the same level of education as him. In reality, he is one of the only people in the grade with an A in English. “You can also use ‘ch’, like in ‘champagne’.”

“What the fuck is ‘champagne’?”

Your confusion over the many irregularities of the English language continues into the next week, despite Itsuki’s best attempts at explaining the spelling rules and their relative exceptions, even as he warms up for his volleyball game. Somehow, he roped you into promising to be one of the scorekeepers for the practice game, since Shukugawa High didn’t have a proper volleyball manager. But before you can properly talk his ear off about the stupidity of the spelling of ‘ambitious’, his coach descends on him like a biker gang consumed with the need for vengeance for the murder of their former leader and orders him out to the court.

_Delinquents_ , you think, standing by the scorekeeping board, _do not attend sports games and show school spirit._

Your future (potentially biker) gang would be disappointed in you.

Too busy daydreaming about the sick motorcycle you may or may not possess in the future, you completely miss the start of the game. Fortunately for your wandering mind, but maybe not so fortunately for your best friend, Shukugawa doesn’t score until the other team already has six points.

“Hey, you! Your team scored!” the manager for the other team hisses at you, and you quickly flip the paper on the scoreboard to show a large black 1. You do a double take when you see the number on the other side of the board, and look back at the court. Itsuki is glaring daggers across the net, where two familiar faces stand.

“Miya!” you yelp, surprised. Obviously they don’t hear you, but their manager does.

“You know them?”

“More or less?” you say, not entirely sure how to explain that you’ve run into them at one of the local shrines. Twice.

She gives you a pitying look.

“My consolations.”

“Huh? What’s wrong with them?” you ask, slightly taken aback. “Aren’t you their manager?”

“Oh, definitely not. I’m actually the captain’s girlfriend, so he asked me to come so they had someone to keep score for them,” she explains, laughing. “No offense, but they didn’t trust someone from your school to do it.”

“It’s actually the same case for me,” you say, somewhat embarrassed. “We don’t have an official manager either.” She grins.

“Well, anyway, the twins are a handful. Or a couple bucketfuls, honestly.”

You think about the way they’d previously acted at the shrine, and you wholeheartedly believe her, suddenly feeling a spike of pity for everyone on their team. The rest of the game passes in a blur; you’re mostly focused on Itsuki, who manages to get a couple more hits past the other team’s blockers. Despite his efforts, however, your school loses both sets fairly quickly and soon, everyone’s filing off the court.

“How, uh, how do you feel?” you ask, unused to having to comfort people. Itsuki runs a hand over his face before his customary smile is back on his face.

“It was a pretty good learning experience, honestly! I’ll definitely be prepared to face them next time!” You eye him suspiciously. Even when he’s actually happy, his sentences don’t have this much enthusiasm behind them.

“Right,” you say. Do villains call people out when they’re sad, or do they let them wallow?

“The Miyas still can’t defend against my serve, at least,” Itsuki says, a note of his old pride making its way back into his voice.

“Talkin’ about us?” The twins themselves saunter over to you and Suki, matching grins on their faces. “I’ve been practicin’ my own serve. Yours is powerful, but I bet mine’ll be better.”

You blink at them, unable to differentiate which is Atsumu and which is Osamu.

“Which one are you?” you ask, giving up rather quickly. The first twin gives you a puzzled look.

“Uh, who’re you?” His brother snickers. “Samu, stop laughin’ at me ’n explain who this scrub is.”

“I’m not a scrub!”

“That’s the scrub from the shrine, ya fuckin’ idiot. Ya even said you’d see them next year; gods, yer so dumb,” says Osamu, shaking his head. Atsumu flushes red.

“I didn’t tell anyone I’d see ’em next year, the hell are ya sayin’?”

You and Itsuki exchange a glance before stepping away from the twins, intending to leave them to their bickering. However, before you can get far, Osamu stops you.

“[y/n], right? Sorry about my useless brother, can’t remember for shit. Forgets his lunch at home at least once a week-”

“Samu, shut yer trap or so help me-” Atsumu says, stepping towards his twin.

“Give it a week an’ you’ll forget ya ever threatened me,'' Osamu shoots back, smirking, and Atsumu’s blush spreads further. However, he seems to at least remember he’s at another school and refrains from punching his brother square in the nose.

“Er, sorry if I forgot ya, I guess,” he says, looking at you, and you have to keep yourself from laughing in his face.

“It’s not a problem. See you at the shrine, Osamu,” you say with a little wave before walking away.

“Why’d they only say that to _you?_ ” Atsumu asks, voice growing distant. Osamu’s laughter follows you out of the gym.

* * *

You’re fairly certain the twins were waiting for you- New Years’ Eve comes and goes, but the next morning finds both Miya twins at the shrine, throwing snowballs at each other even though they’ve obviously already been here for some time. You’re glad you didn’t bring Itsuki- he’d probably glare at them the whole time, still sore over his loss from earlier in the school year.

“[y/n]!” one of them says, shoving his brother’s head down and jogging over to you, and your eyes practically bug out of your head.

“Wha- what- you- your fucking- what the hell happened?” you manage to get out, but the boy in front of you looks at you like _you’re_ the one who dyed your hair the color of piss.

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Yer hair, Tsumu,” says Osamu, coming to stand next to his brother, and you see Osamu went with silver-grey dye. Still kind of a weird choice, but much better than a certain fake blonde you now know.

“You’re _blonde_!” you say, absolutely disgusted, but Atsumu keeps looking between you and Osamu as if you two are the insane ones.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I told you to use the toner, ya damn scrub,” says Osamu, but Atsumu scoffs.

“The hell do I need toner for? Hair products’re for girls, Samu.”

“Um, no, you definitely need toner,” you chime in, but you are ignored. He can’t seriously mean to keep that eye-bleeding color in his hair, right?

Well, at least you can tell them apart now?

“[y/n], pick out our fortunes,” Atsumu says suddenly, standing far too close to you, and you jump.

“Why?”

“Every year Samu gets a better fortune ’n me.”

“...So?”

“So he’s cheatin’!” Atsumu exclaims. You look over his shoulder to see Osamu nonchalantly scrolling through his phone, looking for all the world like Atsumu’s babysitter just letting his charge run wild, assaulting innocent delinquents trying to visit the shrine.

“Maybe he just has better luck than you?” you offer hesitantly, but Atsumu shakes his head stubbornly.

“There’s no way he keeps getting better results! I’m tellin’ ya, it’s not natural.” 

Seeing he’s not going to give up and leave you alone, you sigh.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Atsumu’s whole face lights up, and your gaze lingers for a couple extra seconds before you head over to the stall selling fortunes and purchase three. Shuffling them in your palm, you select one before chucking the others at the twins. They each catch one, and the next few seconds are silent as you all unfold the little strips of paper.

“ _Little luck_ ,” you read out, lifting your head. Atsumu is staring at his fortune with a stricken look on his face, while Osamu has an impossibly smug expression on his face. “What did you guys get?”

Wordlessly, Osamu shows you his fortune. _Great luck_.

Atsumu is still standing there, a completely bulldozed expression on his face.

“Come on, Tsumu, show us yer fortune,” Osamu says, grinning.

“Fuck off,” Atsumu growls, but he turns the paper around. 

_Great curse_. 

Unable to help yourself, you choke on a laugh, causing Atsumu’s head to whip over to you, looking betrayed. Osamu absolutely loses his shit, practically cackling at his brother, while your hand is firmly clamped over your mouth to prevent any stray snickers from escaping. “Sonofabitch,” Atsumu swears, ripping his fortune in half, throwing it to the ground, and stepping on it.

“Are you _three_ years old?” you gasp out, actual tears beginning to form in your eyes at the absurd sight. Atsumu is nearly six feet tall and extraordinarily muscular, but he’s pouting like he’s fresh out of the first grade and aggressively stomping on a scrap of paper no larger than your fingers like he’s trying to wipe out its entire bloodline. Next to you, Osamu is bent over and gasping for air.

“I hope ya both perform _seppuku_ ,” Atsumu says, turning a fascinating shade of crimson and hightailing it out of the shrine.

“I can’t wait to tell Sunarin about this one,” Osamu says, mostly to himself, catching his breath and running a hand through his mess of hair. “The gods must really hate my brother.”

You watch Atsumu’s broad back disappear through the front gates.

“Oh, definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clear up any possible confusion, the japanese school year starts in the spring after a short break, so these new year visits are just a couple months before the end of the school year. meaning, although reader is 16 here, they're still in their first year of high school.


	4. chapter three (age 17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains spoilers for haikyuu to the top pt2 !

“[y/n], Sunarin. Sunarin, [y/n].”

The tall boy in front of you meets your eyes, his eyes flat and uninterested, a stark contrast from the fascination that lights his dark irises every time he turns towards Osamu. It’s inevitable, really, like the tides being pulled towards the moon.

“Cool,” you say, attempting nonchalance but falling short and stopping at awkwardness. The corner of Suna’s mouth quirks up before he tilts his head at you, inky hair spilling over straight brows. 

“Cool.”

“Say Happy New Year,” Osamu prompts his friend.

“Happy New Year,” Suna parrots, mimicking the cadence of Osamu’s voice exactly, and you laugh.

“Happy New Year, Suna, Samu.”

“Didya forget about me already?” Atsumu swoops down on you while Osamu openly snickers at the irony of his statement.

“Yes,” you answer, face completely straight. “Who are you again?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, not falling for the bait (a surprise). But then again, it’s been a year. He’s bound to have matured some.

  
  


“By the way, yer terrible at picking fortunes. I didn’ get cursed at all last year!”

Correction: he’s barely matured at all and is still hung up over losing to Osamu in their imaginary competition.

“Maybe the universe is saving your curse for this year, and you’ll horribly injure yourself,” Suna observes dryly. “Didn’t the fortune you get this time say ‘Terrible luck’?”

Atsumu splutters, his cheeks turning a now-familiar cherry shade.

“That- it- how does that have anything ta do with that?”

The three begin bickering amongst themselves while you hang back, watching amusedly.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun, you muse as you leave the shrine, Atsumu’s ‘terrible luck’ fortune clutched in your hand. Giving it away apparently works the same as sticking it to a tree, according to him. You had rolled your eyes, but your head feels oddly light as you twist the slip of paper, still warm from Atsumu’s palm, around your fingers.

* * *

Having managed to escape from Itsuki’s rabid fangirls, you lean against a wall rob catch your breath. However, you are not awarded peace for long, as you look up to see Osamu and Suna looming over you like two very tall, very intimidating portents of doom. You do not appreciate this- you and your future delinquent gang are supposed to be conveyors of the inevitable collapse of the world, not weirdly tall hair dye fanatics. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything else, a muscular arm loops itself around his shoulders and yanks him close.

“’Samu, don’t jus’ sneak away and leave me to be devoured by tha wolves!”

Wolves?

“Fangirls,” Suna tells you, noticing your confusion. You can’t tell if he’s smirking because he enjoys granting knowledge to the masses (you), or if he just finds Atsumu’s situation funny. Osamu elbows his brother, hard.

“Only you would get tired of yer fangirls so fast.”

“Oi! The other day you said ya found ’em annoying and too chatty,” Atsumu says defensively, but Osamu snaps right back.

“Yeah, an’ _you_ said ya liked the attention! And look at yer stupid ass now, chewing my ear off abou’ how they won’t stop following ya around. Serves ya right’s what I think.”

It’s always the fangirls. 

“I can see yer cogs turnin’, [y/n]. Stop thinkin’ so much!”

Atsumu ambles over and bestows you with a brilliant smile. You respond with a blank stare.

“Why, is it just that hard for you? Don’t worry, I can handle it fine.”

Suna snorts but feigns innocence when Atsumu whips around to glare. In contrast, Osamu doesn’t even try to look like he’s not shamelessly eavesdropping.

“We’re at Nationals! Jus’ watch Inarizaki beat the crap outta all these other schools. We’re one a’ the favored schools, ya know,” he boasts. You can practically see his chest puffing up more with every word out of his mouth.

Unfortunately, Atsumu is very good at volleyball.

The first game Itsuki had played against Inarizaki, the twins hadn’t stood out very much to you, beyond basic surprise at recognizing them. However, one year later, they’d improved by leaps and bounds, and were both starters and a huge threat to every school in the prefecture. You’d even seen Tokyo players eyeing the two and whispering behind their hands, obviously preparing themselves to play against them.

In all honesty, you do not care. You have more important things on your mind, like your C+ in English (delinquents are marked by their bad grades, you tried to explain, but your mother refused to listen). But Atsumu will not shut up, and so you are forced to listen. 

Osamu and Suna are long gone, losing interest as soon as Atsumu begins to wax poetic about the specificity of that _one set_ he played in some game last month, but you continue to stand stiffly in front of him, bobbing your head as you attempt to follow the conversation. Despite your best friend being who he is, you still have zero concept of any of the rules of volleyball. To you, a setter and a libero might as well do the same thing.

At first, you’d stayed out of basic politeness, but eventually you realize you’re interested in this story of his. Or, more accurately, you’re interested in the glow of his eyes and the enthusiastic motions of his hands as he tried to demonstrate the exact movements he had performed, and the way his words tumbled out of his mouth like he couldn’t get his point across fast enough, like he needed all of it out there, for the world to hear. Not for them to congratulate him, but just for them to _know_.

Atsumu, you learn, feeds on acknowledgement. He does not care for something as superficial and fleeting as praise, but instead sets his sights on something much harder to attain. A simple compliment will not satisfy the hunger inside his heart. He wants to be acknowledged, to be known and recognized and most of all, respected. Being liked, being praised and popular are in no way appealing to him.

You had read him completely wrong, you realize, but Osamu rockets around the corner and grabs his twin brother by his bright, garish hair in the middle of Atsumu’s sentence, and before you can finish fully forming the thought that Atsumu is actually kind of impressive.

“We’re gonna be late, ya fool! Dontcha wanna watch Karasuno play? We’re up against ’em next!”

Atsumu goes, though not without his usual litany of whines, curses, and complaints.

“Come with us, [y/n],” he offers, but you shake your head.

“I should get back to Suki. But I’ll watch your game!”

* * *

True to your word, you and Itsuki show up at the front of the bleachers as the two teams warm up. He doesn’t admit it, but you can tell Suki is excited for the match. After all, he lost to Inarizaki. It’s only natural he wants to see how well they do.

The Inarizaki cheer section is deafening, but Atsumu silences them with a single fist when he steps up to serve. You have to stifle a snicker at how ridiculous the situation is. Did he speak with every single student to let them know to be silent at his signal or something?

They take the first set, but it’s not easy. As they wipe the sweat from their brows in preparation for the next one, you frown. Their fatigue is evident in every movement they make, and it shows when they lose the second set with a gap of 5 points. 

“Overtime,” you say, fingers gripping the back of the seat in front of you, which is thankfully empty.

“No, just a third set,” Itsuki corrects you, but you wave him off. Karasuno is a good team, you realize as you keep watching. Especially the tall, black-haired setter and the short orange-haired middle blocker. Their quick attack is almost as impressive as that of the Miya twins. 

Atsumu and Osamu make eye contact across the court, and you practically feel the electricity crackling between them as Atsumu reaches towards the ball. Adrenaline rises through the air, and you lean forward, your knuckles turning white as Karasuno’s players all freeze, terrified of what they know is coming. Inarizaki can _win_ , you realize, your face splitting into a grin. Osamu’s palm connects with the volleyball. Inarizaki can take this set, and-

_CRACK._

The volleyball meets the floor.

The smile on your face freezes.

The ball, you realize, is on the wrong side of the net.

“YES!” Karasuno’s players scream, piling on top of the setter and blocker duo you had noticed earlier. The ones who blocked the twins’ perfect attack. The ones who _blocked-_

You stand abruptly, ignoring Itsuki’s questions: ‘ _[y/n], where are you going? What’s wrong?’_ , all of a sudden feeling suffocated and unable to properly draw a breath. What’s wrong?

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, your voice disappearing into the sky as you gulp down lungfuls of fresh air, still crisp as winter slowly surrenders to spring.

You don’t know the answer just yet, but you know that something isn’t right.

It isn’t until that night, tossing and turning in your bed, that you realize you are unsatisfied. Disappointed, even.

Over the course of that single game, watching Miya Atsumu and his teammates fight for one more set, one more spike, one more point, you had become invested. In a volleyball game, no less.

  
“What’s wrong with _me_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school has started up for me again, so i was really rushing to get this chapter out :( i might have to take a short break to focus on my studies


End file.
